The Silent Womb's Revenge

Chapter 3

The moment the screen went dark, Sophia's tears splashed onto the lock button.

Ethan pulled her closer, his palm gently stroking her back. "Don't cry," he murmured, his voice trembling. "Every tear you shed feels like a stab to my heart." He pressed her hand against his chest.

By the third traffic light, Sophia pretended to fall asleep, turning her face away. In the darkness, Ethan's phone lit up briefly before dimming again. The WeChat notification pierced her eardrums like a needle.

"Baby?" The car stopped in front of the villa. As Ethan leaned over to unbuckle her seatbelt, his collar brushed against her lashes. She caught a faint whiff of an unfamiliar jasmine perfume.

Company emergency? Sophia watched the taillights disappear around the corner, standing frozen in the foyer like a statue. Her phone vibrated—Victoria's social media post popped up. Blue roses shimmered unnaturally under the sunlight, the caption stinging her eyes.

By the third time the taxi driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror, Sophia realized she had bitten her lip until it bled. The estate gates stood wide open, the black Bentley parked haphazardly, as if its owner had been in a desperate hurry.

"...Three failed IVF attempts. I need an heir." Ethan's voice drifted on the wind. "Stay in your lane. Don’t provoke her."

Victoria's sobs suddenly turned into a coquettish laugh. "Then how will you make it up to me?"

Sophia watched as Ethan swept the white-clad figure into his arms, their silhouettes merging against the second-floor curtains. Something warm trickled into the corner of her mouth—she was startled to realize she was smiling.

"Here to visit the Love Estate too?" A girl holding a selfie stick sidled up. "They say Mr. Sullivan planted an entire hillside of roses for his wife."

Sophia wiped her face, her fingertips coming away wet. "Yes," she said softly. "So romantic."

The girl's eyes widened suddenly. Sophia knew she had recognized it—Victoria’s outfit was an exact replica of what she had worn in college.

The gynecologist’s office was freezing. Clutching the medicine bag, Sophia overheard the nurses whispering as she left: "Another one here for an abortion... Being a rich man’s wife isn’t easy..."

A loud crash echoed from the foyer. Ethan burst in just as the pillbox on the coffee table caught the cold gleam of the setting sun. The sound of his knees hitting the marble floor was dull, like the thud of an engagement ring dropping into velvet years ago.

"Sophia..." His fingers shook as he reached for the box, the movement agonizingly slow. "What’s wrong?"

Her gaze landed on his misaligned shirt buttons—the second one still tangled with a strand of chestnut hair. Suddenly, she remembered the first time she had ironed his shirt, how he had promised to wear her pressed clothes for the rest of his life.

"Ethan." Her voice sounded hollow. "What color are the bedsheets in the master bedroom on the second floor of the rose garden?"